Moving On
by gally1
Summary: Now that the team, and most especially Alex, have all walked through the door of the Railway Arms what will it take to get Gene there too. One shot fluff, Galex. Please read and review.


Recently been catching up with all of the LOM/A2A episodes and decided to write this one shot as a result. Just my ramblings and take on what could happen next. Hope you all enjoy! Please read and review.

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything.

The day to day comings and goings of CID were beginning to take their toll on DCI Gene Hunt. He'd not only had to deal with reshaping his band of merry men and women after having to give up one of the best teams he had put together but now he had to deal with another DI thinking he was better than him as well. His eyes looked skyward as his hand gently nursed the unending supply of whisky in his favourite crystal glass. "Look, I know I pick my moments when I feel the necessity to talk to you but hear me out. Just once." He shook his head, for all the times he'd called both Alex and Sam nutters. "I don't know how much more of this I can take. I've been here for so long now I'm close to being a part of the furniture. I just want to retire, get away from it all, be able to walk into the Railway Arms just once more and never have to walk out again at closing time."

He picked up the still smoking cigarette and put it to his lips taking the final drag before stamping it out in the ashtray. "I've been found, haven't I? Alex found me, I don't know how or even care but she found me, out on that hillside. I knew then that it was her time to go, to move on. All these secrets I have to keep and for what? To get so close to having everything I desired and to watch it move on without me." His eyes fell upon the framed photograph that now adorned his desk. The only one he had of them, the only one of her, from Viv's birthday party.

A smile briefly pierced his usual pout, the slightest flicker of a memory; he'd told her to wear something skimpy. Little had he realised that she would do as he'd asked, let alone ask for his opinion about her attire. He'd only wished he'd had the courage to act upon his increasing desire for her, their ... what had Jimbo called it? Their chemistry! And she had been right, as bloody usual, he did miss her; he wondered if she missed him half as much. Why had he never dared to say anything more to her especially when it should've meant so much more for them both? A few comforting words for her to take with her rather than just "I know". Now it was all an unspoken poem that festered away in his soul and in his heart.

"What more do you want from me, hey? I've done everything that's ever been asked of me, I've even beaten off the dark side of this existence for you, sent Keats packing for a little while longer, and still I'm here. For nigh on thirty sodding years."

He got up from his desk and moved across to the window, Alex's now dark and lifeless flat seeming to glow just for him, calling to him, asking him to come and take a look. He shook his head trying to escape the memories that were invading his senses. For all of those missed opportunities when he'd hauled his carcass up those stairs or whilst they had sat together in Luigi's and shared a bottle of wine when everyone else, including the little Italian himself, had left them to their solitude. He'd fancied she'd had a crush on him but he'd never had the balls to ask.

He suddenly felt a dead weight in his pocket, the keys on his newly acquired and much loved Mercedes key ring reminding him they were there, always. The time had come finally, it had been three months since the night Nelson had welcomed her through the doors of the Railway Arms and Gene had not once gone to her flat afterwards. Had not the courage to. He knew it needed sorting out, that the remnants of her existence in his world needed to be packed up or thrown away. The new landlord had been a constant reminder at first, seemingly spending half of his time in the station threatening Gene with eviction until Gene finally agreed to pay him an exorbitant rent in order to keep him away from Alex's things.

Draining the last of his whiskey, he put on his coat and strolled through CID, astonished coppers parting like the red sea as he waded through them. He heard the odd comment about him or question of him but he took no notice. He was grieving and this was the time for him to move on to phase two without a hindrance. "I'm out!" He barked at the new Skip as he stomped through reception only slowing as he walked down the steps to a memory of himself and Alex arguing. He watched on as she threw the storage box containing his life onto the floor, a bottle shattering as it hit the pavement. He'd just got into his car and driven off, if only he'd ...

But that was better left unsaid, or left for him to dream about later on. He crossed the street quickly, opening up the door to the lobby and running up the stairs. Tentatively he opened her front door and stepped inside. On those occasions he had been allowed entry into her world it had always been inviting. Today was no exception. He took off his coat, placing it on a hook next to her white leather jacket. Briefly touching the fabric with his outstretched hand he smiled to himself, was he finally turning Dorothy in his old age, at least there was no one around to see him.

"Might as well make myself at home," he suggested to no one in particular, filling the kettle with fresh water and putting it on to boil. He searched for a teabag but only found coffee, no sugar and obviously no milk. He'd have to have it weak. He pulled off his boots and slung his jacket and tie over the back of a chair before rolling up his sleeves. He looked into the living room wondering with what to make a start, for someone who'd only been there for a short while; she'd amassed quite a collection of stuff.

A mug of steaming weak black coffee in one hand and a roll of black bin liners in the other, Gene moved across to the shelving unit that took up half of one wall. She had a collection of music tapes here he'd remembered and aimlessly picked one up. Putting it into the nearby cassette player he hit the play button but instead of the blaring pop music she'd favoured he heard her voice. Amazed and shocked he stopped it playing before taking it out and peering at the writing on the label; April 1982. Side B was entitled May 1982, the month he'd found another one of these tapes on his desk and she'd told him she was from the future; the month he'd shot her.

Rewinding the tape back to the beginning of May 1982 he pressed play and waited for her to speak before stepping back to the sofa and making himself as comfortable as he could on the preformed sponge. He heard a sniffle resound from the player before she began speaking. "Gene hates me," she whispered, "he asked me to trust him, to tell him the truth and he thinks I was lying to him." He heard her snivel again, his heart breaking from what he had reduced her to. "I know it seems far-fetched, of course the truth is very far-fetched. I keep going over and over what I said to him, what he asked me to tell him and it is totally unbelievable. Why didn't I just lie? Why didn't I just pander to his ego? Told him something he could bear to hear?"

The silence that ensued was enough to make any sane person go mad before she abruptly started up again. "I've lost him, my constant. The man that believes I hate him enough to lie to him. Hates this place enough to want to be rid of it. And I do, to a certain degree, but only because Molly isn't here. If he'd believed me I'd have told him everything, if he'd just shown me one ounce of trust I'd have trusted him with my very soul. But instead, I'm reduced to making another one of these sodding tapes that no one will ever listen to, apart from me.

"So, where do I start, at the beginning I suppose, as always? Whilst I lie in that hospital bed in a coma in 2008 there is a man in a similar way in the room next to me, Martin Summers. In his attempts to secure my help he has shot his younger self and left me to deal with his actions. My fingerprints are all over the gun that I'd watched middle aged Summers kill young Summers with, my own stupidity taking over with the shock as the older Summers made me take the gun before he left the scene. I covered up the murder by dumping his younger body in the slowly drying foundations that had been laid that day. If ever they find his body then my doom is sealed, I am still in possession of that gun; I just hope that that never happens.

"I count the hours away, hoping that with each piece of the jigsaw that fits together it will be my one final step back home. After all, what do I have left here? In 2008 I've been found, Arthur Layton's bullet has been removed from my brain but I have an infection which I have to fight, they're giving me an arsenal of drugs to help me but I've got to fight it on my own. Not only that but I'm beginning to forget Molly, I can hardly see her face anymore, all covered up as it is and now I'm having to deal with Gene's anger towards me too.

"At first it was easy, having got to know what Sam had been through it was easy for me to realise that this world was real only in the psyche. I believed that all I had to do was find the one thing that was keeping me here, solve the clues, prevent the bombing and I would go home. I could even act as I wanted to because there would be no consequence for anything I did. But it didn't happen like that, this is a different world with its own set of rules. At least I found out that my mother loved me, as did my father even though he had a warped sense of showing that love. Not only that, I realised that Evan wasn't my knight in shining armour who had shielded my view of that bombed wreckage. Everything that I had come to believe as a child had been turned upside down, but who could I tell?

"When Gene asked me to tell him the truth, I was prepared to tell him everything. I wanted his help like he had helped me so many times before; from the time he first saved me from being killed by a passing car, to the time he pulled me out of Cale's fridge, and to the time, as a child, he held me close to him on that hillside above Evan's burning car. I know he doesn't want me to leave or that he'll probably never understand what it is I've already told him but I have to go home and be a mother to my daughter, surely he could understand that. He realises what a mother's role to her children is, he told me as much in his bellowing way, and I thanked him for his trouble by striking his cheek hard with my hand.

"But the fact that I have to go home doesn't stop my heart breaking every time I think about the choices I have to make here, in Gene's world. If only I could cut myself into two? No wonder Sam came back he must have felt so alive here, once you've had a taste of Gene Genie's world you never want to leave it. And I don't want to leave it, if Molly wasn't an issue I'd stay here forever. I feel alive here, exhilarated, loved even. Or at least I did.

"I did hate this place once, even disliked Gene but not anymore. Yes, there are times when I really want to smack him one in the face, like I did when I first got here, in order to knock some small amount of sense into that thick northern flatfoot skull of his but those times are far outweighed by those when I catch him looking at me with those world weary eyes of his. I could get lost in them for hours; if only he'd allow me to break down those barriers he's eagerly placed between us, once and for all. But then what am I thinking? He never lets anyone in so why would I be any different? He'd certainly never let me get as close to him again as I have been, especially after today."

Another agonising minute ensued. Gene attempted to collect his thoughts whilst he listened to her weeping, desperately trying to ascertain how he could've been so cruel to her. Aware that he needed to know all that he could about her, he returned to the shelves, thumbing his way through the contents, finding the tape that had appeared on his desk all those months before and realising it was in fact one of the first she had made since her arrival. Once he'd finished with the cassette he was listening to now he would start listening to them all, from the beginning.

On the shelf below were a couple of box files. Pulling out the first he opened it as he continued to listen to her cry, unfolding bits of paper he pieced them together on the floor in front of him, a calendar, the first date had been her arrival the last date had been the day her parents had been blown to kingdom come. An unexpected laugh brought him back to the tape. "I suppose in all fairness I should be calling you – dear diary. My musings as a child were private to that little leather bound book that I know my mother never read, so I suppose these recorded thoughts are the magnetic evidence that I at least existed here even if they remain private to me. So, in all fairness, I believe that I should tell you my innermost feelings." He could tell she was beginning to ramble, like she had done on so many occasions when she had been drunk, _last few seconds Gene, what would you do?_

"And what did I do? The right bloody thing as usual. I should've taken her to bed myself, made sure that she was on her own that way. Even if I'd stayed the night on the couch it would've been better than finding out she'd slept with some arrogant Thatcherite wanker!" He thumbed through other bits of paper and newspaper clippings that had notes written upon them in her delicate hand. All of the evidence stacking up in her favour, making him realise that he had never trusted her enough to understand her truth. "Bolly, I'm so sorry."

" ... I love Molly, very much. And in my own way I've made sure that she always knew, perhaps from my own mother's lack of showing me I knew I needed to constantly show my own daughter especially after Pete left."

Gene looked up to the tape as if Alex was really there. "Peter Drake? The little oik that threw the brick at Staines? Oh God, it all makes sense now!"

"I love him!" He could tell from Alex's tone there was truth in what she said.

"That's understandable; he's the father of your kid!"

"He may seem harsh and trivial at times, his remarks cutting and severe but I love him. Who would've thought it?" She giggled again, in his mind's eye Gene could see her, "I'm in love with the Manc Lion!"

"What?"

She reverted to a whisper, "I love Gene Hunt, for all of his ways. I love him dearly but how am I ever to become his lioness now?" She'd begun to cry again until the tape came to the end of its cycle and the play button struck back home.

A bewildered Gene leant his back against the sofa behind him. For perhaps the first time in his life he realised that this had been one of the only occasions he had ever heard a woman say that about him, and in her own way, to him; especially considering that woman wasn't either his mother or a prostitute. He brought the box file to his lap, hoping that he would come across what he hadn't been able to find in her desk when he'd searched it once she had gone. Piles of paper spilled onto the floor, so much to go through and make him understand her but not now. That would be a job for later, for now he had to find that one envelope that she had given him with the express instruction that he was never to open it until she'd left only taking it back from him when she'd found out that Ray, Chris and Shaz had all opened and read theirs.

He could tell from her expression as he'd handed back the unopened envelope that she couldn't quite believe that he hadn't opened it. But if he had it would've been like admitting defeat, knowing that what was said couldn't be unsaid. He understood that this was a test of trust and one he was willing to uphold. If he'd known what it had contained it wouldn't have made her time for leaving any easier. But in truth, he'd found himself scared at the prospect of finding out what she'd really thought about him and to that end had decided against opening it.

Now he had everything to open it for, sure it had been written at a time before the argument that had secure a loss of trust on both sides but that didn't matter, not anymore anyway. He found the three open ones, all in their original envelopes with the respective colleagues name written upon it, but his wasn't there. Slightly dismayed and confused he placed all of the paperwork back into the file and retrieved the second. He settled back into the sofa and opened the lid.

There on top was a rare portrait of himself, and not only was that rare he was actually smiling too. When had that been taken? From the surroundings it looked like the management away day to Margate. How on earth had she got it? As she was a Met DI she'd obviously had to be there, even though the stink she'd kicked up about going had left a lot to be desired. After all she'd been right about it, again. A bunch of fossilised dinosaurs trying to make themselves feel important whilst also constantly taking the piss out of Gene for having a female DI or attempting to get into her knickers. All had tried and failed apart from a young DS who was tipped for great things. Or so Gene had jealously thought at the time.

Nick Brampton had been brought along to show the aging set how newer recruits were being trained and why it was important to include their opinions in all investigations. He also had a penchant for amateur photography and had taken his camera along for the duration. Gene recalled that Alex had spent a good deal of time talking to the young Brampton and when he had confronted Alex about it she had told him that they had been talking tactics, comparing notes on blags and that there was no need for Gene to be jealous as nothing was going on. Gene remembered, with shame, that he had made one of his usual non committal comments before joining in with the drinking and making lewd sexual remarks towards her. She hadn't been very happy with him after that, even when he'd apologised with his usual bravado of 'bolly kecks, get your arse over here and bring a glass.'

How hopeless could he be? He picked up the picture, turning it over to start off a new pile. Noticing some words on the back he stopped to read them, 'to Alex, I hope this is a start in helping you understand what he has that makes you want him above all else, regards, Nick.' He turned the picture back and looked again at his smiling face. He looked happy, why? He never had a good time when he was on these courses so what had made this one an exception. There was only one thing, or rather one person, Alex.

Picking his way through more photographs of himself he realised that the reason she had become so friendly with this Nick had been to get her hands on the photographs. "What did you do Bolly? On lonely nights when you weren't making tapes, did you think of me? Did you think of me as I'd thought of you ... for so long? Please, just help me understand all of this."

When the photographs stopped, there were notes, notes turned into transcripts of private conversations they had shared, dreams that she'd enjoyed and written down so as not to forget, everything and anything that connected them together in some way was there, in that box file. Finally, he brought out an envelope, his name written carefully over the front but this wasn't the same envelope that she had rescued from him those months before, this was different, larger, and pink in colour and her perfume had been sprayed over the paper. He breathed in; allowing the scent to take over his mind as his fingers deftly opened the envelope. "Speak to me Alex."

_Dear Guv_,

_No, not good enough_

_My dearest Gene_

_Over the past few months ... Since I arrived in 1981 I have come to find a good friend in you, in fact one of the very best, and I am glad that you and I were able to metaphorically settle our differences, shake hands and start over. As you read on you will be wondering if this was the letter I gave you all of those months ago before taking it back, unopened. It isn't. That letter could never do justice to the feelings that I now have for you. Yes, it conveyed a heartfelt sincerity of the developing friendship that I then understood us to have but nothing more and I think that if you now read that letter, although surprised by its contents they would lead to some confusion._

_Needless to say that I have since struggled with my feelings for you, I did hate you, once, for what you appeared to be on the surface. But once I was able to see the real you on those very rare occasions that you allowed me access, I was able to see that the real you was very different. I don't fully understand who you are, and probably never will, but I know one thing, I love you. And not just as a colleague, or friend, or father figure, or anything else you imagine yourself to be to me. But as a woman loves her man. I only wish that I had been able to tell you this before I left and I don't even know that you will ever get to hear or read what I have to say, but I do, Gene Hunt, love you more than life itself. I only wish that one day I have the opportunity of showing you just how much._

_And I know that I will never hear those words be spoken by you to me. Hell, I'm not even sure how you feel about me these days. Am I just a pain in your backside? We had so many opportunities to ignite a spark but we're both as much a coward as the other, aren't we? If I'm wrong then so be it, it's not like you'll ever be able to tell me, will you? But if I was right? No, it's too painful; somehow believing that my feelings for you would ever be reciprocated makes it harder for me to understand why we never acted upon them, especially towards the end._

_Enough! Such talk fills me with a great sadness. At least I can say that I truly knew one of the very best of men and hope that I had his respect if nothing more. God bless you, and keep you safe._

_Till our paths cross again,_

_All my love_

_Alex xxxx_

Gene sighed, "Oh, Alex, if only you knew the half of it!"

.oOo.

The normally joyous temperament of the Railway Arms was suddenly smashed as Alex's fist found the woodwork of the bar. "It's so damn frustrating, Nelson."

"I know Alex ..." Nelson started before being cut off by her further ranting.

"How could you possibly know? You're an angel!"

"Just because I'm an angel doesn't mean I don't know how these things work or feel. I've seen enough people walk through that door to know exactly how everyone of them felt. You should be relieved that you've passed over."

"But surely there's no point to passing over if I feel so God damn miserable all of the time. At least I can go and see Molly whenever I want, not that she understands me."

"Yet."

"What?"

"She doesn't understand you yet! You still have quite a bit to learn, Alex, once you realise that there are many ways of giving Molly a sign or having help to give her a sign then you'll be able to tell her anything. You know, I think so many people are surprised when I tell them they can get in touch with their loved ones and let them know they're ok."

"So the whole medium thing works?"

"Of course, Alex, there are fakes in all walks of life but those that are good bring a lot of happiness."

"Hmm, well that still doesn't explain why I can't get back to Gene either."

"The door swings one way, when you're ready to move on you walk through it. Can't get back."

"But why didn't he come with us. What on earth could be keeping him back?"

"What on earth ...?" Nelson mused, "Alex, you were in a coma, when you were clinically dead you were able to move on. Ray, Chris and Shaz all had to realise they were in limbo, something which they were able to do as a result of the tapes Keats made for them all."

"Yes, I understand that. But Gene knew too, once I'd shown him his warrant card, he knew he was the young copper in the unmarked grave."

"Hmm, the young copper in the unmarked grave. The unnamed young copper in the unmarked grave."

"Are you telling me ... ?"

"What Alex?"

"Well, that even though in 2008 Gene's grave has been found they don't know who he is yet?"

"Hmm?"

"And that once they have his name he can move on?"

"Is that what you think?"

"Yes, Nelson, that's what I think."

"Then you're probably right."

"Nelson!" Her fist crashed against the wooden bar again. Nelson smiled at her nodding his head as he wiped another glass. "But I found his warrant card, it was there."

"In 1983 it was there, but 2008 is still a long way off."

"Oh God. He's going to be in limbo forever. His body will be so decayed that no-one will be able to tell who he was, there was no such thing as DNA testing in 1953 and I doubt if they could match dentals then either. Without his warrant card ... "

"Alex, stop worrying, he'll make it, I don't know when but he will, one day."

"And until then?"

"Start learning some of those lessons you've been taught, you'll thank me in the long run."

.oOo.

Six long months had passed since Gene had first read Alex's letter and first heard her proclamations of love for him. And during that time he'd been able to really understand what had made this woman tick, why she had been the way that she had been when she'd first arrived to see a complete transformation in her by the time that she had left. He'd listened to all of her tapes, read through every last piece of paper he'd found in her flat and, after sorting out what had been Alex's life, took with him the only memento's that he'd wanted to keep.

He'd dreamt of her every night, lying in his bed next to him, their unified passion spent, their naked bodies caressing the other. Words were never necessary between them; they just knew they were meant to be together, forever.

Even at work he could think of nothing but her, memories taking over the greater proportion of his day; him watching her move about the office subconsciously wiggling her hips about in his direction; the two of them holed up in his office at opportune moments, so close that he could quite easily have taken her there and then; her in his arms in the pitch black of that underground room at Edgehampton.

He sighed heavily, it was no good. If he didn't do something soon they'd have him pensioned off or worse, ask him to become the new Super even. Surely the grieving period had to be over soon, maybe he could ask Sandra in accounts out for a drink, she seemed to like him even though she would quite easily ten years his junior. She didn't hold a candle up to Alex but then who did?

He got up to go and make a brew, aimlessly wandering around the side of his office into the kitchen area. A crowd were discussing the latest news on Dennis Nielsen's continuing trial and he was as surprised to hear himself make comment about it after being asked a question by his latest recruit. "Where are you guy's drinking now?" He asked as the discussion came to its natural conclusion and the crew went back to work.

"Harry's bar, around the corner on Apedale Street." Poirot answered.

"May join you all later for a jar then, if you don't mind that is?"

Setting his City mug on the side, he went to grab for the box of teabags. He swayed a little, a sickening feeling settling in the pit of his stomach, a haziness enveloping him as he caught the image of a young plod in the corner of his eye to his right. Gene followed him, quickly moving through CID and ending up in the records room. What was so important in here? He scanned the area, noticing a large manila envelope on the table, Keats scrawl having written Gene's name across the front in big bold letters. Inside was a video, a couple of pictures, some scrawled notes and an old warrant card. He opened the card; it was the one that Alex had shown him all those months before bringing back to him the last moments of his life upon planet earth before arriving here in limbo. He'd told her about Sam, how they'd planned Sam's death, where the grave was only to find it was already occupied – by him.

He buckled at the sensation of impending nausea, finding the waste paper bin in order to be sick in it, his card falling to the floor as he moved. When all was better within himself, he went to retrieve his card. Noticing a small slip of paper lying on the floor beside it, he picked it up and read what was on it. "Watch the video."

For a few moments, Gene wondered if he was in Wonderland. Alex and Sam had both complained of similar things happening to them, perhaps this was what they had felt? Perhaps this was finally a sign that he was about to move on.

Back in the solitude of his office he placed the video in the player and switched on the TV before perching himself on the very edge of his desk. The tape rolled and what seemed like a newsreel played although it was in a format that he was unfamiliar with. In the corner the date loomed large, 24th September 2009, so Bolly had been telling the truth.

The newscaster was stood in the same field where Alex had found his body, "three months ago travellers, on their way across this old farmland, noticed a shallow grave; the body of a man that had been buried on this now derelict farm had slowly been uncovered with the consistently bad weather that the UK had recently been experiencing. Today that man was named, a young policeman by the name of Gene Hunt who was callously shot dead about a week after he joined the Manchester City Police force in 1953 and buried here by the men that killed him. Unfortunately, events leading up to his death will never be known and it can only be assumed that the men that committed this crime have paid for their part in this young man's death. As he had no living relatives the Greater Manchester Police have ensured that he has had a proper burial and that his body has been interred in the same cemetery as his parents. Rest in peace, PC Gene Hunt."

He sat motionless for what seemed like forever, watching the snow dance on the screen before him almost star like. Looking up towards the ceiling he noticed the stars above him too, "I suppose this means I can move on, does it? I bloody hope so because I don't think I could stand it here for very much longer."

Getting up from his seat, he drained the last tot of whiskey from his glass, grabbed his coat from off the stand and waltzed through CID, a smile plastered upon his face. For the last time he was going back to the barebones of his home in order to make himself presentable to walk through the door of the Railway Arms at opening time. And at precisely 5.30 pm Gene stood on the threshold of the Railway Arms waiting for Nelson to open up.

Patience not being his strongest point, Gene waited for a couple of minutes before belting hell for leather out of the woodwork. "Come on, Nelson, let me in." He stood for a while longer, looking at his watch, wondering if he was in fact wrong about moving on and watching passers-by as they returned his glare with a knowing look. 'If only it were true,' he thought, 'that the reason I'm here was just to get drunk.' He gave it one last try, "Nelson, are you bloody in there!"

Through the etched glass of the door, he could see a shadowy figure coming across the room. To his relief he heard the two bolts being pulled back, the key was turned in the lock and soon the door was pushed open. "Jesus," Nelson swore as Gene pushed his way into the bar, looking around the vacant tables to see if any were occupied. Nelson was now situated in his rightful place behind the bar, "pint is it, Mr Hunt, or a whiskey maybe?"

"Neither," Nelson gave him a look of disbelief, "I'm looking for Bolly ... for Alex. That's if I'm allowed to be here."

"You're always welcome here, Mr Hunt, you know that."

"No, what I mean is."

"I know what you mean. Of course, they found your body didn't they?" He watched Gene nod, "and they gave you your name."

"Yes."

"Then your good Bruv! Now what can I get you?"

"Nelson, I don't want a drink, I want to find Alex."

"She won't be in until about seven, lucky you came today, and they only meet up once a week now."

Fearing the worst he had to ask, "who?"

"The team, Bruv. Ray's usually the first in, then Shaz and Chris, fine little couple they make. Sam and Annie are in about 6.30 pm and Alex usually arrives just after 7."

"Thank Christ for that!"

Nelson began pouring Gene's favourite bitter. "Worried she got someone else?"

"No," Gene was affronted, and then sighed, "yes."

"Really? Seems to me like she's only got one man on her mind. Always asks me the same question whenever she comes in."

"And that is?"

"Have I seen you?"

"What in the hell does she see in me?"

"That's a question you should ask her." Nelson planted the pint glass in front of Gene. "Don't worry; I'll make sure you're still sober for when she arrives."

"How drunk can I get in just over an hour?"

"You really want me to answer that, Mr Hunt?" Nelson smiled before leaving Gene to his solitude.

.oOo.

Alex looked at the clock, 6.15 pm, she should get ready but could she really be asked? Every Friday for as long as she could remember started with the team meeting up in the same place to discuss how good the old times were and if Guv was ever going to move on. Then, extremely disappointed and despondent, Alex would come home on her own again to an empty void, in her house and in her heart. She honestly didn't know how much more of this she could take.

But then she couldn't just not turn up at all; that would worry the others for a start let alone rock the foundations of the great friendships she was making with Sam and Annie. Maybe she could tell them tonight that it was just too painful for her, week in week out. Ask them if they could meet somewhere else, which she knew Ray would never agree to, or for her to meet with them all less frequently. Yes, less frequently, she could probably cope with that.

She looked through her wardrobe, what to wear. She picked out a black silk empire line dress, with tiny cap sleeves with a hemline that touched just above her knee, teaming that with a pair of low kitten heeled court shoes and black stockings. She applied the barest amount of make-up and knotted her hair up out of the way into a quick up-do. The briefest look in the mirror signalled that she would do before she took the short walk to the pub.

Waving over to the team at their usual table as she entered she made her way to the bar. "You look very elegant tonight, Alex."

"Thanks, Nelson. Just a little something I pulled out of the back of my wardrobe, nothing over the top."

"No, just right. Red wine?" Alex nodded, opening her mouth readying herself to ask her question. "Before you ask, I've not seen him."

She shrugged, biting back tears that threatened to overspill. "Ok, thanks." She whispered, picking up her glass and retreating to the table. Taking a seat with her back to the bar she composed herself before greeting everyone already there.

Small talk ensued, she really couldn't do this anymore, and it hurt far too much. She stood, getting ready to address them all, they all waited for her to speak. "I'm sorry everyone but I need to make this my last visit for a while."

"Why?" Chris asked as Annie took Alex's stray hand in her own and began to comfort her.

"It's too painful for me. I mean its great meeting with you all but when we invariably get around to talking about Gene, my heart ..."

"Get's ripped to shreds and I feel like I can't go on any longer?" A familiar voice asked from behind her.

Her heart thumping against the side of her chest, Alex turned around seeking out the familiar presence. "Yes," she said as their eyes met. "Gene?"

He nodded, quickly moving towards her in order to have her in his arms. "Alex, you're a sight for sore eyes." Tears washed freely down over her cheeks, he traced one gently with a fingertip, "I never realised you could be so weepy," he whispered, "you got the decorators in?"

Wrenching one arm free she playfully thumped his shoulder, "no," she smiled up at him, "does this mean ... ?"

"I'm staying?" She nodded expectantly, "yep, they found out who I was and gave me a good sending off, I'm now in a marked grave next to my parents."

"That's fantastic!"

"So, why are you still crying you daft mare?" Gene asked tenderly, his hand gently caressing her cheek.

"Because it means I can finally take you home with me," she confided, "I hope I meet your expectations."

"I'm sure you'll blow any expectations I have completely out of the water. I hope those are stockings, my up-town lioness." She stared at him blankly, "I listened to your tapes."

"You did?"

"Every last one of them."

"Did you read my notes?" He nodded, pressing a kiss to her neck and purring in her ear like a contented cat. "Did you just purr?"

He grinned, "I am the Manc Lion."

"Yes, you are," Alex sighed.

"Do you think that there's any chance of you shutting it! I want to kiss you and you're making it very difficult for me." Alex pursed her lips, "oh and that makes it so much better! Moments gone, you'll have to wait now." He broke away from her, attempting to go for his beer. Taking the initiative Alex took his head in her hands, her lips crashing against his savouring his taste as her eyes closed to feelings of euphoria; she finally had him where she wanted him. His arms closed around her back pulling her closer, in the distance she could hear people cheering but she took no notice. For the longest time they stayed connected until she could bear it no longer and had to draw breath. "Bloody hell, bolly kecks. Anymore of that and I may require surgery."

"In your dreams, Hunt."

"And definitely in yours Bolls," he wriggled his eyebrows.

"You read them too."

He nodded, a smile cutting across the width of his facing, his eyes dancing with delight, "they were the best bit and I learnt a thing or two from them. Can't wait to try them out if I'm honest."

"You can be so infuriating. Remind me again why I've waited so long for you to walk through that door."

"Because you love me, Alex."

That stopped her in her tracks. "Right. I do, Gene. I love you very much."

"That's good."

"It is?"

"Yes, it is. Because even though you believe you can read people and know everything about them with this psychology crap of yours ..."

"You said psychology."

He pouted, "yes I did. Can I carry on?" She nodded, "you also have this annoying knack of wanting to be right most of the time. Well, you were definitely right about one thing. I did miss you, very much. But you were wrong about something else."

"And what was that."

"I'd tell the whole world if only they'd listen."

"Stop teasing me. Tell them what?"

He kissed her nose, "I love you, Alex Drake. Always have, always will."


End file.
